The other day I attended a concert with a folk music friend of mine. He had invited some of his “masters”, his musical mentors that had taught him and transmitted to him their heritage. (One can almost talk about transfusion here.)

These mentors were simple old men who had never set foot in a musical academy before. They also couldn’t bow.

Well, of course they could bow, but they hardly did. They were clearly not comfortable with this final stage of the musical act.

Again I was reminded of how sympathetic a certain clumsiness is with musicians. Not musical clumsiness; I don´t want you to sing out of tune or play as if your fingers got mixed up. But taking a bow is not music, it is a learned act, often plastered on to your performance.

It can remind me of a street musician going around with his hat. Now, please give me some money (applause, appreciation).

While we play music, we are in contact with higher worlds; when taking a bow we are dealing with some sort of contract. We become businessmen and -women, computing how much we get for our efforts.

I like a good musician who can´t take a bow, who is somewhat clumsy. You won´t find them on Broadway, of course, not in rock music, ballet, theater or the circus stage.

They are also becoming rare in classical music.

I note how very proficient my colleagues the young pianists have become. Slick, streamlined, all having cool coiffures and really looking the part. Of course they bow with professionalism.

I never learned that at the Musical Academy. Playing well was enough and shy clumsiness no big sin. We were a bit more like village folk musicians back then.

You have misunderstood this totally, says a friend. Bowing is an act of gratitude and deep thankfulness . It is the best way for an artist to say “thank you” — from the heart.

It can be. Just as “What´s up?” or “How do you do?” can be heartfelt wonderings about our status. But I am not convinced, considering how often and how automatically we say those things every day, in the same robotic way.

If things are heartfelt, why are they manifesting in an identical manner? Perhaps because they have been reduced to practiced, mechanical formalities.
I recall a concert with Donovan in Stockholm in the 80s. His way of receiving applause convinced me. Somebody shouted “Bravo!”. Donovan, sitting on a bunch of pillows, calmly answered “Bravo for bravo”. No lapping up of praise, no affected gratefulness or slick showmanship.

Showmanship can be okay; what disturbs me is when artists behave like salesmen or beggars.

I once played some piano duet pieces in concert with Ulf Björlin at a concert. Ulf was no shy wallflower; in some respects he was a (benign) showman.

And it showed…. Simultaneously with the last fortissimo chord of the piece he rose to his feet in an impressive gesture the meaning of which no audience could misunderstand: “Time for applause!” No begging or salesmanship, that, but continental, possibly Gallic (Ulf studied with Nadja Boulanger) showmanship.

Considering what a great musician, composer and not the least person he was, such a gesture did not disturb me.

But our contemporary, all too professional and streamlined bow-taking does disturb me. It indicates that the wave of image management has not only reached the tender bark of classical music, it has almost engulfed it.

Having a talent for prima vista bestows some special, unexpected gifts.

When I get hold of a lot of new music, which happens quite often nowadays, I can just sit down at the piano and… what shall we call what I am doing?

“Playing” is not enough. I get acquainted with the music, yes. But it´s almost a two-way communication. Another of my favorite pastimes is conversation with new people (and of course already existing acquaintances). You never know exactly what will happen, what will be said, what subjects might suddenly rear up their beautiful or strange heads.

I now understand that sitting down at my Petrof and getting to know some new pieces — not in order to really learn them, no concert planned right now — is very similar to sitting at my favorite hang-out in Stockholm, Vadstena, or Budapest and getting to know new, interesting specimens of Homo sapiens.

The other day I thought I would try the (very limited) multitrack abilities of my Casio Keyboard. So I took out the score of Olivier Messiaen´s “Fête des belles eaux” and tried my hand with pages 50-53.

I was, as you might be, surprised by how well the exotic Ondes Martenot can be emulated by a simple household Casio. Mind you, I have one of the better models, but still.